Old crocks

  I now play a lot of golf. In fact, over the last three years I calculate that I’ve played more golf than the first six decades of stomping around the goat tracks on the Cumberland Plain put together. But the abundance of time now allocated to chasing the pill through fairways, bunkers, the rough and fuckin’ crows’ nests has come at cost. Like most things, delusion has infected any type of reasonable self-analysis of my game. In the younger years, I figured that the main reason I played golf like an arsehole could simply be put down to the fact that I didn’t play enough rounds. Family, work and the alarm clock all conspired to thwart my attempts to have a fair crack at the title. My own diagnosis was that I possessed the skills and latent talent that would be immediately liberated once the time and motion creeps disappeared and the associated prognosis was one of realising golfing nirvana- along with the added bonus of a complimentary token to the afterlife. Win/Win! ...

  One of the greatest myths in Boomertown is that advancing years open up worlds of wonder, exploration, understanding and relative tranquillity. Time itself doesn’t appear as the enemy or, at least, the force that travels around the town with a big stick. A strict adherence to the clock is for the workers, the kiddies and anyone else who is unsuitable for membership to the Sexy Super Sixty-plus Club. There are regulation descriptions and statements that are always used by seniors to piss around their turf. Examples include- ·          I don’t know where I found the time to work. ·          This is the life. ·          I’m living the dream. ·          Life is good. ·          I worked all my life. Now is the time to ‘enjoy’. Please note that the...

  The fourth and final leg of the trek to the hall involved a cruise. The departure point was Bergen and our ports of call over the twelve day journey would include Eidfjord, Stavanger, Kristiansand and Oslo (all within Norway) followed by Gothenberg (Sweden), Alborg (Denmark), Berlin and finally Copenhagen. Bergen was a revelation. Deceptively large, the joint was busy, beautiful and, in certain areas, boisterous. Its links to trade were obvious given the location and it had formed an important part of the Hanseatic League centuries ago. There were boats of all types in the harbour when we were there and it was quite a show. The galleries and museums were tops. We walked around Bergen Art Museum uninterrupted. I think that at one stage we were the only ones there. Munch, Picasso, Klee and Christensen were all represented. Installations were in the city’s parks and Kerry and I, on our second night, walked in on a classical guitar performance happening in an old (I t...

  Following the deferrying at Cairnryan, the Regans’ Scottish leg kicked off with a café stop somewhere on the way to Ayr. While waiting for our coffees in a booth we heard a ‘conversation’ taking place with some youngish tradie locals at the counter. They were laughing, talking, laughing again, talkies etc. etc. and Kerry and I just shook our heads. We had no fuckin’ idea about the keynote topic, what the words were nor the reason for their mirth. These citizens speak a whole different language and yet it’s nominally ‘English’. The coffees were good, though. We visited Troon later that afternoon. First rate place and the pro even gave me a couple of free cards to the two testing layouts (Portland and Royal Troon) that snake their way alongside the beach. A busload of sharply dressed yanks arrived while we were there and emptied an attached enclosed trailer of golf bags. No push buggies for these boys. If the last lap on the ghost train or the trek to Valhalla is...

  Stimulus What gives value to travel is fear. It is the fact that, at a certain moment, when we are so far from our own country … we are seized by a vague fear, and an instinctive desire to go back to the protection of old habits. This is the most obvious benefit of travel. At that moment we are feverish but also porous, so the slightest touch makes us quiver to the depths of our being. There is no pleasure in traveling, and I look upon it more as an occasion for spiritual testing …   Travel, which is like a greater and a graver science, brings us back to ourselves. Albert Camus, 1963 Northern Ireland I found Derry to be one of the most interesting places that we visited. The delineation between town and country was stark. Kerry and I could see rural fields near the horizon as we walked around the city walls that originally protected the old town and yet we were in the middle of the settlement. The troubles are touted as a thing of the past but th...

  Introduction There’s something about travel and I’ve always recognised the opportunities it presents to compare and contrast. In fact, travel is one instrument that helps point you to the regions of experience, understanding and reason. Rather than merely providing locations and natives to adorn photos, status updates and predictable recounts, travel at its best challenges, confronts, comforts and condemns in ways that make descriptors like ‘quaint’, ‘iconic’ and ‘awesome’ child-like and inadequate. If it’s a straight blow-by-blow description of the Regans’ 2018 European campaign that you’re seeking then you won’t find it here. The content sample and logistics Our journey took place in August and September of last year and included traipsing around parts of Ireland, Northern Ireland, Scotland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark and Germany. The first three target areas featured car travel while the rest were incorporated into a cruise which commenced in Bergen and finish...

  Greg Norman’s latest offering (and there have been a few) of his ‘buffed’ bod to the adoring masses is symptomatic of an increasing number of punters in their sixties who seem to think that they still have it in the looks’ stakes. Delusion and denial are becoming the defining processes of seniors who are desperately hanging onto the fantasy that their physical presence adorns and enhances any social gathering or event. You only have to view super, sexy, sixty plus social media walls to realise that narcissism and self-promotion of the ‘visage’ are the order of the day as we encounter each of these critter’s online journeys towards a Top of the Pops podium finish in the handsome/ beautiful seniors’ category. But there’s a slight technical problem. Denial and delusion can only take you so far. If you can stand it, these new images of the athletic Greg reveal exactly what he is……. a sixty three year old man. There are folds and crevices in his ‘formidable’ frame t...